


Marked With Indelible Ink

by watanuki_sama



Category: Common Law
Genre: Background Alex/Wes, M/M, Soul names, Soulmates, alternate universe-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The darker the letters, the stronger the bond, and Travis has never seen letters darker than the ones on his wrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked With Indelible Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 05.15.15.

_“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”_  
_—Andre Breton_

\---

Wes is nine when his soulmate’s name appears, a long line of neat letters that span the inside length of his wrist in a soft dove-grey. Wes is delighted; he runs his fingers over the letters and wonders what his _Alexandra_ is like. Someone sensible, he decides, someone like him. Wes can’t imagine getting along with someone who’s _not_ like him.

The darker the ink, the stronger the bond. The cool, gentle grey of this ink means a steady bond—not terribly strong, not at this shade, but he supposes that can grow as they get to know each other.

His delight fades when, in his excitement, he shows his father. “It doesn’t mean anything,” his father says, and Wes can feel his face drop. His father, for once, notices and belatedly adds, “But congratulations, I suppose.”

At dinner the next night, Wes’s father gives him a box. Not gift-wrapped, because Wes’s family doesn’t believe in wrapping paper. It’s not _practical_. He opens the lid, and nestled in black velvet is a watch, with an onyx faceplate and a thick silver band. Thick enough to cover the letters on his wrist. It’s identical to the watch his father wears.

“Thank you,” is the only thing he can find to say. As he clasps the watch on, he can’t help but wish he’d kept the name to himself, just for a little longer.

\---

“I’m never gonna have a soulmate,” Travis declares when he’s seven. He’s just been told that he’s being moved— _again_ —and he’s decided to reject the whole concept of soulmates entirely. He may be young, but he’s already learned that nothing lasts and promises don’t mean squat. The names are just a promise of a different sort, and Travis wants nothing to do with it.

“It doesn’t really work like that,” his foster sister says. She neatly folds his shirt and places it in his ratty bag, worn ragged from seven years of moving. “I don’t think you have much of a choice in the matter.”

“I don’t care.” Travis glares at the smooth, blank skin of his inner wrist, just _daring_ letters to start appearing. “I’m not gonna have one.”

Because soulnames are just another sort of promise, and promises aren’t worth the breath it takes to make them.

\---

Jennifer is a perfectly pleasant girl with a nice smile and pretty eyes, but she’s not his soulmate. Through the entire lunch—supervised, of course, with both their mothers sitting two tables away—Wes can’t stop his gaze from going to her wrist, again and again.

She’s wearing a gold bracelet, filigreed with flowers. It looks delicate, but it covers all the relevant portions of her wrist, so Wes can’t tell what she’s got. He wonders if the name she’s covering is his and she’s just going to be disappointed, or if she, like him, was dragged here by her mother and her name is something complete different. Or maybe she’s a Blank and she’s just wearing the bracelet to fit in.

It doesn’t really matter, he supposes. She’s not his soulmate, so this was doomed to fail from the start.

In the car afterwards, his mother sighs, the sound laden with disappointment. “You could have at least _tried_ , Wesley,” she admonishes, staring out the window. “Her father is a Senator’s aide. Very influential.”

Wes fiddles with the clasp of his watch. “She’s not my soulmate,” he says quietly, but in the face of her annoyance it’s a weak argument at best.

Sure enough, his mother scoffs. “Oh, don’t be silly. Soulmates are childish dreams. Power and influence are what’s important. You can get along just fine even if you aren’t soulmates. Look at your father and me.”

“Right.” Wes stares out the window, not reassured in the slightest.

“And stop playing with your watch clasp. That’s how things break, you know.”

\---

By the time most kids get to high school, they’ve already got their soulnames. Those that don’t, hide it, wearing wristbands or watches or the big plastic bracelets that are all the rage this season. It’s not _that_ rare to be Blank, but it’s uncommon enough to be different, and most high schoolers don’t want to be different at all.

Travis is already different enough, so he doesn’t care. He flaunts his Blankness, refusing to cover his wrists with anything other than his jacket sleeves. “Doesn’t it bother you?” people will inevitably ask, “Don’t you want to know who your soulmate is?”

And Travis will just smile and say, “Nope.”

There are benefits. There’s no former attachment, nothing to keep him from playing the field, jumping from relationship to relationship with no strings attached.

And if most of his relationships end because his partner eventually says, “You’re not my soulmate,” or “We’re just not compatible,” or “I’m sorry, Travis, but…”

Well. That’s not really his fault now, is it?

\---

His first year of law school, Wes meets Alex. She sits next to him in class and smiles, and Wes feels his heart thud painfully.

It doesn’t mean anything. She could be an Alexis, or Alexa, or maybe Alex is her entire name. Even if she is Alexandra, it doesn’t mean she’s _his_ Alexandra.

They spend more time together. They start dating. The more Wes falls, the more he hopes that she’s the one.

The day he asks her to marry him, he takes off his watch and shows her his wrist. “But it doesn’t mean anything,” he says, echoing his parents’ words for entirely different reasons. “Even if you aren’t my soulmate, I still love you.”

Her eyes go soft around the edges, and she says, “But it _does_ mean something.” Her hand reaches for the clasp of her ornate silver bracelet, and Wes’s heart stops its nervous swooping, fluttering with hope.

She pulls off the bracelet and turns her wrist, and Wes has never before thought his name looked so beautiful.

\---

In his third year of college, Travis dates a girl whose wrist is scarred thick with the remnants of soulnames. She’s got two names on her wrist right now, both a faded, dull grey, weak bonds that will probably disappear before she finds either one of them.

Neither name is his.

“Blank,” she murmurs one night, running her fingertips over the inside of his wrist. Then, “Aren’t you lonely?”

“Nope,” Travis chirps cheerfully, tracing the curve of her spine. “Got you, don’t I? How can I be lonely?”

She ignores his flippancy, pushing up on his chest to stare down at him. “But it’s your soulmate,” she states, eyes bright with the faith of a true believer. “The person you’re meant to be with, the other half of your heart. Don’t you want to know who they are?” 

Travis looks at this girl, the scars from half a dozen soulnames on her wrists, and he’s unexpectedly angry at the pity in her eyes.

He pushes her off, a little more rudely than he intends. “I don’t care,” he snaps, looking for his scattered clothes. “I don’t need ‘em.”

He can feel her watching him, but he doesn’t look back.

\---

After Anthony, everything changes. He can’t work, can’t focus, can’t look at another young life without the bitter taste of failure and self-loathing flooding his mouth. He should be fine, should be able to move past this, but he can’t and it’s tearing him apart.

It’s tearing his marriage apart.

Wes traces the faded grey letters on his wrist, pale as clouds in the sky, and takes a breath. The letters are still legible, they haven’t faded to empty scars. There’s still hope. He can still fix this.

Wes takes another breath and tries not to feel like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood that’s about to capsize.

\---

Travis washes his hands twice before he realizes the black streaks on his wrist aren’t grime but ink. His breath catches, and he scrubs with twice the fervor, biting back something a little hysterical. _Out damn spot!_

After three more rounds of soap, Travis has to admit that it’s not embedded dirt or grime, and the marks just aren’t coming off. He turns off the water, takes a breath to fortify himself, and looks down.

W-E-S-L-E-Y stretches across his wrist, black like someone emptied a pen into his veins. The darker the letters, the stronger the bond, and Travis has never seen letters darker than the ones on his wrist.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters. “This cannot be happening.” He doesn’t need this. He’s gone this far without a soulmate, what’s he need one for _now?_

He doesn’t _want_ this.

He calls up his foster sister. She does theatre makeup, and she shows him how to mix the right shades of concealer and make it waterproof and long-lasting. In the end, his wrist is the same brown as the rest of his arm, and only someone touching him would be able to tell the difference.

It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough.

\---

It takes him by surprise, the dark stain on his wrist. For a second, Wes thinks Alex’s name has darkened again, darkened even more than it had ever been, that they’re back to the way they were or even better. But he knows it’s foolish even as he thinks it—Alex’s name faded even more once he joined the Academy, and now the letters are pale as fog, barely legible. Wes has veins darker than Alex’s name on his wrist.

Besides, the new name is too short to be Alex’s, too male. T-R-A-V-I-S, in letters as dark as the vast expanse of space.

Wes fastens his watch into place and stares grimly at his reflection. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He loves Alex, and he’s going to make this work. _Travis_ will just have to wait.

\---

There’s no magical spark when they meet, no sense that he’s found something he’s been missing all his life. Honestly, Travis’s first impression of Wes Mitchell is that he seems stiff and—well, kind of a pain in the ass, really.

Still, when they’re introduced, and Wes’s eyes shoot to up at his name, Travis feels a funny little double-thump in his chest. He doesn’t want a soulmate, doesn’t need ‘em. And Wesley is kind of an unusual name but it isn’t _that_ rare so this may not even be the guy anyway. Then Wes says, “You spoke at the Academy,” and Travis reminds his traitorous heart that he wasn’t expecting anything anyway.

A few days later, during a break in their brainstorming, Travis nods at Wes’s wedding ring. “You’re married?”

“Yeah.” Wes rubs the strap of his watch, an odd smile twisting his lips. “My soulmate.”

“Yeah? Good for you.” It’s fine. There’re lots of Wesleys out there, and Travis doesn’t want a soulmate anyway.

“Thanks.” That odd smile again, and Wes brings his head away from his watch. It looks like an effort. “What about you?”

“Me? Nah.” Travis holds up his hand, showing off not only his empty ring finger, but also his makeup-covered wrist. “Not really my thing.”

Wes makes a small little noise, and his eyes linger a long time on Travis’s wrist.

\---

Travis is annoying. He’s loud, and irresponsible, and messy. He never keeps track of his things, never cleans his desk, and never follows Wes’s car rules. He always mocks Wes and hides his hand sanitizer. He’s always flirting and leaving broken relationships and angry exes in his wake. Wes has had to change his route into work twice to avoid women Travis has dumped, which drives him nuts.

For all that, Wes can’t imagine being partnered with anyone else. Travis is funny, and loyal, and brave, even if Wes will never admit to _any_ of that. He makes fun of Wes’s quirks, but he also accepts them without trying to change him. They’re opposites in every way, but sometimes Wes thinks that just makes them work better, because they can bounce ideas off each other in ways they wouldn’t if they were any more similar. They click, like gears in a clock, and Wes can’t imagine anymore trying to live without Travis in his life.

It’s easy to care about Travis, and even easier to fall in love. It’s just one more betrayal.

But Wes has spent a lifetime covering his feelings, so he rolls his eyes and banters back when Travis speaks, and he never, ever takes his watch off, and things stay the same.

Things don’t get any better with Alex, but they don’t get any worse, either. Wes can live with that.

Travis may be his soulmate, but Wes doesn’t believe for an instant that he’s lucky enough to find and keep two soulmates in his life, and he’s not going to risk losing Travis. 

\---

There are days when Travis wants nothing more than to empty a clip into Wes, or throttle him until he turns blue. Wes can get on his nerves like no one else in the world, and Travis just wants to wipe the smug look on the blonde’s face and be done with him.

But then there are the other days, days where they’re a seamless unit, communicating without words and moving like they’re pieces of the same whole. Days like this make everything worth it, all the fights and cold silences and petty revenges, and Travis can sort of understand what all the hype about soulmates is about.

Even on bad days, Travis knows he’d never _actually_ drown Wes in hand sanitizer. He’s too invested. As in _forever_ invested, growing-old-together-and-sharing-closet-space invested, which is kind of freaky only because it’s _not_ freaky. Any other time someone he’s been with has even hinted at moving in together or committing, Travis has run for the hills.

With Wes, the thought is entirely natural and only scares him a little bit.

There are times when Travis will reveal some detail about himself or his past and Wes will look surprised, which will surprise Travis because he’d have sworn Wes knew it already. Sometimes it feels like he’s known Wes since they were little, since long before he was born, and it’s a shock to remember they’ve only known each other a few years.

He gets it, now, all that talk about ‘the other half of your heart’. Travis doesn’t know what his life would be like if Wes was gone, but he thinks it’d be pretty damn dull.

_You’re my soulmate_ , he imagines saying, _It’s always been you_. And he’ll show Wes his wrist and Wes will take off his watch and they’ll—

But Wes has Alex, and Travis won’t do that to his partner. It happens, sometimes, a one-way connection. Wes may be his soulmate, but he’s not Wes’s. And that’s fine. Sure. He’ll live with it, at least, just like everything else he can’t change.

Does he want more? Absolutely. But he’s not going to risk it, so being Wes’s friend and partner is enough.

\---

The killing blow comes the day Alex’s name disappears completely. His skin is so pale he can’t even see the scars; he has to trace the letters with his fingertips to even tell her name was once there. An entire connection, a whole chapter of his life, gone just like that.

Travis’s name, dark as ever, stares accusingly up at him.

He wonders, staring at the delicate lines inked into his skin, if he ever felt for Alex the way he feels for Travis.

He can’t remember.

For once, he doesn’t put on his watch before going downstairs. Alex greets him in the kitchen with a smile that fades when he says, “We need to talk.”

She listens in silence as he shows her his wrist and offers explanations that don’t mean anything and excuses that don’t forgive. In the end, all he can give her is a broken, “I’m sorry, Alex,” and that doesn’t seem nearly enough.

She’s silent a long time, staring at Travis’s name on his wrist. He half-expects her to start crying or yelling or accusing him of things he can’t quite deny. Instead, she sighs and says, “You’re not the only one who’s sorry.” Then she takes her bracelet off, exposing her bare wrist, and—it’s a strange feeling, expecting the sight but still being shocked.

(It just goes to show how far they’ve drifted, that neither of them bared their souls to each other for such a long time, until it was all gone.)

She reaches out, takes his hand. “This doesn’t have to mean the end. We had some good years. We don’t have to lose everything.”

That, at least, is a relief. They may not be soulmates anymore, but he still loves her, and he would hate for this to be the end of everything.

She turns his hand, studying the dark slash of Travis’s name. “Have you told him?” He pulls a face; she nods understandingly. “Right. Are you _going_ to tell him?”

“Of course not.” He pulls his hand free, finds some measure of relief when he slides his watch into place. Out of sight, out of mind. “Travis is a Blank.” 

The sympathy on Alex’s face is too much to bear. He has to walk away from the table before he embarrasses himself.

\---

Wes is reticent at the best of times, and when he’s upset, he’s even more so. It’s weeks of Wes alternately moping about and terrorizing people before Travis can drag him off, sufficiently stuff him with beer and nachos, and get the story out of him.

“Divorce?” Travis takes a hasty swig of beer to cover his surprise. “I thought you guys were soulmates.”

“Yeah.” Wes’s gaze is distant, his thumb sweeping slowly over the band of his watch. “So did I.”

The words are ready to spring out of his mouth. _What about me? I know you don’t love me, not like that, but maybe you could, someday. We’re good together, and I think we could be even better, if you give me a chance. Oh, and did I ever tell you about my sister who does makeup? Because she taught me a few tricks…_

He chokes on the words. Wes just lost his soulmate, not physically, but in all the ways that matter. He’s hurting, he doesn’t need Travis throwing all that at him too.

“Well,” he says instead, getting up for another beer. “You still have me.”

Wes smiles a crooked little smile, and his eyes trail over Travis’s blank wrist as he accepts the bottle. “Yeah. I still have you.”

\---

Sometimes Wes thinks it would be a thousand times easier if he _didn’t_ love Travis so much. Some days, when they’ve just make a break in the case and Travis flashes that huge, brilliant grin at him, it’s all he can do to not grab him by the collar and kiss him senseless. Other times, when Travis is flirting and talking about his many and varied dates, Wes kind of just wants to punch Travis in the face until he gets a clue.

It’d be easier if he didn’t love Travis, but he’s been doing it for so long now he doesn’t know how to stop.

The solution, then, is to keep his distance, hold Travis at arm’s length so he doesn’t realize. Maintain the status quo.

Before, Wes always used Alex as an excuse for not doing anything. Now that Alex is no longer in the picture, it becomes even more imperative that Wes keep his hands and feelings to himself. Wes knows better than anyone what Travis is like when messy, complicated _feelings_ get in the way.

So Wes pulls away, uses a tongue honed sharp in law school to erect walls between them. And he finds, in the end, that distance reveals cracks in their relationship that neither of them noticed before. Too close to care, before.

Wes’s words get sharper. Travis’s verbal jabs hit father below the belt. 

They start hitting each other with more than just words.

_Isn’t that just the way it goes_ , Wes thinks sourly, applying ice to a bruised jaw. He got his time with Alex. Just because he found Travis doesn’t mean he gets to keep him too.

Everything is falling apart.

\---

Paekman dies, and it’s an electric shock. Anger and pain blind him to anything but the thought of justice. (Or maybe just revenge. Is there really a difference?)

He goes to the morgue, before Jonelle releases the body, goes late at night when no one is around. For a minute, he stares down at his friend, remembering him so full of life, always ready with a smile or a calm word. So vital and vibrant, and now he’s just a shell. _Gone_ , like he never was.

Travis lets out a breath and picks up his friend’s hand. There’s a name there, dark grey like wet concrete, the name of someone Paekman never met. Travis exhales, burning the name into his brain, memorializing it, maybe. Remembering the person Paekman should have been with, because that person will never get to know Paekman. 

God, he doesn’t even know anymore.

Someday, they’ll bury Travis, probably after he gets himself shot, because he’s never pictured making it to old age (except with Wes, only with Wes.)

Someday, someone just like Jonelle will see Wes’s name on his wrist, just like Travis is doing now. Will the letters still be dark, he wonders, or will they have faded, leaving only ghostly scars in their wake?

There won’t be anyone else for him, he knows that now. Not when the bond with Wes is so strong. No one else will ever be able to match up.

Paekman’s death has torn them even further apart, and Travis doesn’t know how to fix it.

_One thing at a time_. Gently, Travis sets Paekman’s hand back down. “We’ll get ‘em, buddy,” he promises the corpse of his friend. “They won’t walk away from this.”

One thing at a time. Deal with avenging Paekman, and then he can worry about Wes.

\---

Pulling his gun is the only thing that stops Travis. It’s the only choice that makes sense.

Wes may not be able to save their relationship, but he can save Travis from himself. 

If this is the only thing he can do, Wes can be content with just that much.

\---

The only reason Travis says yes to the captain’s suggestion is because every morning, when he’s carefully applying cover-up to his wrist, he sees Wes’s name. The letters are dark as they ever were, blacker than nighttime shadows.

If the bond is still this strong, after all the crap they’ve thrown at each other, then couples’ counseling can’t hurt anything.

\---

Dr. Ryan knows. Or, if she doesn’t _know_ , she at least suspects. Wes is sure of it.

Peter and Dakota are soulmates, baring their wrists so all the world can see their connection. After three sessions, Clyde and Rozelle reluctantly admit that they’re not soulmates, but it doesn’t matter because the love each other. Mr. and Mrs. Dumont wear matching bands and don’t say anything either way; sometimes they speak or move and Wes thinks they must be, but that could simply be the familiarity of two people who have been together for such a long time.

“What about you?” Dakota asks. “Are you two soulmates?” She’s not the only one who doesn’t seem to buy their _We’re police partners and nothing more_ statement, but she is the most persistent in questioning it.

Before Wes can come up with a reply, Travis guffaws, a loud sound that hurts more than he would have thought.

“Soulmates?” Travis chortles. “ _Us?_ No way, Wes is still hung up on Alex.”

“Alex?” Dakota asks, and the other members of the group perk up, sensing gossip and always ready to leap on it.

“Wes’s ex,” Travis explains because he has no sense of decorum or privacy. “Ex-wife, ex-soulmate. So sad.”

Today is shaping up to be one of those days where Wes just wants to strangle his partner.

Wes makes the appropriate scathing comments, Travis rambles and overshares about Wes’s life (and only Wes’s life, Travis is damn good about deflecting from himself), and Dr. Ryan studies them both like she can see right through them.

Wes’s hand doesn’t so much as twitch towards his watch. He gives her no possible tell to latch onto. So maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he feels like she knows.

It doesn’t make him particularly inclined to open up.

\---

Every time Travis moved to a new foster home, he’d have to go see a shrink. They’d ask questions like _How are you adjusting?_ and _Are you getting along with your foster mom/dad/parents?_ Travis learned to smile and lie, because he didn’t know how much of what he said was getting back to his new family, and any complains or grumbling could get him moved all the sooner.

In middle school, he acted out, and he had to go see the school counselor for half an hour every Tuesday, right in the middle of social studies. She said she wanted to help, but nothing she suggested as a solution could bank the fires inside of him, rage at the unfairness and injustice of his life. She couldn’t give him a family or a home that lasted more than a year or a mother that hadn’t abandoned him. No one could help.

He left that school with his next move, three months later, and at his new school he learned to bury his fire beneath smiles and cover his pain with flirtatious charm.

He was in Narcotics for thirteen months when he ran into a hailstorm of bullets. He was put on leave for six weeks and had to talk to the department shrink, who was convinced Travis’s reckless disregard for his life was because of a hero complex brought on by feelings of inadequacy from his childhood in the foster system. He wouldn’t listen when Travis said that really wasn’t it. For obvious reasons, Travis didn’t tell the man about the death of Eleanor, his fifth foster mom, and how hard it hit him, and four weeks later he was released back on duty and nothing had changed.

Travis has a lot of empirical evidence that shrinks are worthless and he can’t trust them. Dr. Ryan is nice enough, but she’s still a shrink. Travis has no intention of letting her get any closer than arm’s length.

For all that, she wriggles through his defenses. She makes spot-on observations and gets him to admit things he had no intention of talking about. She gets them to talk about _Paekman_ , the subject that’s been festering and rotting between them, that they’ve both been avoiding for fear it would further drive them apart.

But it doesn’t hurt them. Talking about Paekman, putting Crowl away, _helps_ more than Travis could have ever expected.

Dr. Ryan saves them, when even Travis thought that wasn’t possible, bond or no bond. For that, Travis is willing to do almost anything she wants.

\---

Therapy still sucks. Wes still hates opening up like this. But he promised to try, so he makes the attempt. And yeah, he’ll admit it, she knows what she’s talking about. In some ways, he and Travis are closer than they were before they started falling apart.

One of her favorite homework assignments is still _Tell your partner something about yourself that they don’t know_. She gives them that task at least once a month.

Every time, Wes thinks about taking off his watch, exposing his wrist and confessing everything. He imagines what could happen, how Travis would light up and say _Oh Wes, I feel the same_ , and—

This is when Wes stops himself, before it can go any further. They’ve made good progress, Wes isn’t going to ruin that and drive Travis away again, not on purpose. Travis is still Blank, and Wes is still hopeless.

It’s not everything he wants, but Wes isn’t willing to risk any more. He’s just not that reckless.

\---

Once their suspect has been tucked into the back of the ambulance, treated for the broken ankle he’d gotten when he pulled a runner, Travis trots over to Wes. His partner is cradling his wrist, wearing a look somewhere between nervous and panicked.

“You hurt yourself?” Travis questions, sliding to a stop. “ ‘cuz the ambulance is still here, you can catch them if you hurry.”

Wes startles, pressing his arm closer to his chest. Travis can see the effort it takes him to relax a moment later, and Travis wonders what’s got Wes so jumpy.

“I’m fine,” the blonde says, reaching into his pocket. His other hand stays pressed against his chest. “My watch broke, is all. The clasp got caught on a door and snapped.” He holds up the watch, the band dangling loose.

“Oh.” The way Wes is pressing his arm close, like he’s trying to keep his wrist hidden from view, almost makes Travis wonder if a new name has appeared on Wes’s skin. About time, Travis decides. Wes has been moping about Alex for far too long now, and he ignores the pang at the thought of Wes caring about someone else.

“Well then.” Travis chirps, clapping Wes on the shoulder. “If you’re fine, let’s get going. That guy’s not gonna interrogate himself.”

Wes smiles wanly and heads for the car. By the time he’s seated, he’s got his sleeve pulled down over his palm, obscuring his wrist and only furthering Travis’s suspicions. He desperately wants to ask, and he’s a little hurt that Wes didn’t tell him, but soulnames are private, and it’s not like Travis has exactly been forthcoming either.

_Doesn’t matter_ , he tells himself, cranking up the radio. _We’re still okay, so Wes’s soulname doesn’t matter._

And it continues to not matter for four and a half minutes, until Wes jerks the wheel to avoid getting T-boned by a sedan that thinks red lights are a suggestion rather than a rule. Wes lets out an expletive that would impress Money’s crew, but Travis is struck dumb by the glimpse of Wes’s wrist he got when his partner’s sleeve rode up.

R-A-V-I

Could it be?

“You okay?” Wes asks, glancing over. “Travis?”

“Pull over.” Travis doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. If it’s true, then—“Pull over right now.”

They’ve been partners long enough Wes can tell when Travis is just fucking around when and he’s being serious. He flips the blinker and pulls to a stop on the shoulder.

He turns in his seat, a question on his lips, but he’s barely opened this mouth before Travis stops him, grabbing his arm and yanking it towards him.

Wes struggles for half a second before giving in, letting Travis pull his sleeve up. “I’m sorry,” he’s already apologizing as Travis stares at his own name on Wes’s wrist, like this is something to be ashamed about. The letters are dark as a spill of midnight on his skin.

Travis wants to burst out laughing. Or maybe burst into tears. Of all the wasted time, the things they could have had if they’d just _said_ something…

He should have known a bond couldn’t be so strong without being reciprocated. It wouldn’t make sense any other way.

“It doesn’t have to change anything,” Wes continues, taking Travis’s silence the wrong way. “We can still go on like we have—”

“No.”

“Oh.” Wes slumps with his whole body, resigned to disappointment. “Right, okay, I’ll just—”

Travis doesn’t wait to see what Wes will _just_. He flings Wes’s hand down and yanks open the glovebox, scrabbling through the contents with mad disregard for Wes’s organizational system.

Wes rears back, eyes wide, once more tucking his wrist against his chest. “Travis? What are you doing?”

Travis doesn’t answer, finally finding what he’s looking for in the back of the compartment. He rips three wet wipes out from the package and starts scrubbing at his wrist, thanking all manner of powers for his partner’s finicky ways.

“Travis…?”

With applied wet wipes and liberal force, the makeup comes off. Heart about to burst out of his throat, Travis tosses the dirty wipes in the floorwell and turns his wrist, displaying the name, spotty in patches because he didn’t take enough time to clean every last bit of makeup off, but legible. W-E-S-L-E-Y.

“That’s…” Wes blinks, staring disbelievingly between his wrist and Travis’s. It only takes a moment for it to click, and the incredulity just seems to deepen. “How long?”

“From the beginning.” Maybe Travis will laugh _and_ cry. It’s an easy compromise for the hysterical giddiness he feels. “God, Wes, it’s always been you.”

Travis watches the could-have-beens and lost time run through Wes’s eyes, and then the will-haves, and then they’re both meeting in the middle, clutching each other and crashing their mouths together. It’s messy and inelegant, too many teeth and their foreheads bang painfully, and Travis has never been so happy to be kissed badly.

“Dr. Ryan’s gonna be so proud,” Travis gasps when they inch apart. “We’re making such progress.”

Wes rolls his eyes, but his eyes are dancing. “Way to ruin the moment, dumbass.” But he’s grinning as he says it, and Travis is sure the same goofy grin is spread across his face.

Travis stares at his wrist as Wes starts the car. The darker the letters the stronger the bond; they’re gonna be together for the rest of their lives.

Soulmates. Who’d have thunk it?

“No one’s gonna be surprised at all, are they?”

Wes snorts and shakes his head. “Not in the slightest.”

It could be worse. They could still be pining after one another, close enough to touch but never reaching out. But now they’ve got a lifetime to make up all the years they missed, and commitment has never seemed less scary.


End file.
